


Odd and Unusual

by RPFuck (Caliras)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Asphyxiation, Blood, Cemetery, Daemon Feels, Daemon Settling, Fluff, Gen, Insecurity, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24837385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caliras/pseuds/RPFuck
Summary: A Dæmon au for the Irish lads! Unfortunately, they won't be interacting in this one since it's more focused on their Dæmons, but I hope you like it anyways!I recommend reading His Dark Materials beforehand, but its not necessary- I'll be providing some short descriptions in the notes of things that appear in this story.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. Space

**Author's Note:**

> Some rules because this was written about real people or contains caricatures of them. Reading further than the rules means you accept them.
> 
>   1. Do not harass the people I’ve written about- while this should go without saying, do _**not**_ bring this up to them. If I find out that somebody is doing this, I will lock the fic so that only registered users can read it. If you are someone I’ve written about and are uncomfortable with RPF, tell me and I will remove my fics. I don't really mind. My twitter is [@_RPFuck_](https://twitter.com/_RPFuck_) if you'd like to contact me. If anyone I write about says they are uncomfortable with RPF, I will remove it once I’m aware.
>   2. If this fic is deleted and you have it downloaded or saved it through other means, don’t reupload it. Don’t.
>   3. If you are unused to the site, heed the tags. They’re there for a reason.
>   4. (Optional since I know how anxiety is sometimes) If you have anything that says that the people I am writing about are uncomfortable with RPF, I would really appreciate it if you sent it to me. Also, if it’s a ship fic and they have a partner or partners who are uncomfortable with it, feel free to send that over too!
> 

> 
> That’s it for the rules, so thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the fic!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Other notes;  
> Dæmon- Physical manifestation of your soul, takes on the shape of an animal. Children's Dæmons are able to shift between animals freely until they settle.  
> Settling- As you grow up and find out who you are, your Dæmon takes a permanent shape and no longer shifts.  
> Pulling- When you get too far away from your Dæmon, it causes pain, and if it gets to be too far, it can lead to seperation.  
> Seperation- You become 'unlinked' with your Dæmon, which can result in death.  
> Witches- They can go long distances without their Dæmon, are women (in this world), and that's pretty much all you need to know for this story.  
> Dust- Uh, tbh, not a clue. Important! But fuck if I know what it is. As far as i have it, it is the conscience in the universe- makes the world go 'round. Invisible to the human and Dæmon eye, unless using special equipment. Only briefly mentioned.
> 
> I think that's about it, I hope you like the story!

The night was cool, heat evaporating under the black body that blanketed the earth. Bright stars rested their burning weight in the night that hung above, scattering the sky with light that the moon alone could not provide. Grass lay flat under the weight of two small bodies, a young boy and, of course, his Dæmon. Right now, however, she wasn’t disturbing the grass at all. Right now, she was the smallest mouse the boy had ever seen, balancing carefully on a yellow flower, waves of grass caressing the stem as they danced in the wind. The field around them was alive with the sound of crickets and the gentle swish of grass, noise just barely louder than their whispered conversation. Dew drops wet the fields, glistening as moonlight touched them. The boy didn’t mind the dampness that soaked his back. Or, at least, not right now. Not tonight. Because tonight- a light flashed overhead and the boy sat up, going silent as the sky effortlessly caught his gaze and held it. Tonight, they came here for a reason. He felt his Dæmon jump onto his back, shifting into a ferret as she crawled upwards, coming to curl around his neck.

Another light flashed across the sky. And then another. Dan couldn't help himself- a grin split his face, joy swelling warmly in his chest. The meteor shower was so clear out here! His Dæmon chirred in delight, leaping off his shoulder with new wings as she took to the sky. He stood up quickly, giving her more room to fly up so that Kosmanox could get closer without pulling their bond. She flew higher, almost looking as if she could catch one of the fiery lights that shot by if only she stretched out her wings a little bit more. She looked... beautiful up there, frail body framed by the universe. He wondered what he would look like if he were allowed to take flight like that, open wings braced against the night.

Kosma dropped back down, landing softy on his shoulder, mouse whiskers twitching against his neck as she panted. It wasn’t from exhaustion, he could tell. It was exhilaration. His expression morphed into a small smile, hand coming up to curl gently around her, wishing for nothing more than to also take to the skies- to go even just a little bit closer to the stars. It wasn’t much. He knew that. He knew that even if he flew to the edge of the atmosphere, he still wouldn’t be close enough. He wouldn’t even make a dent. And yet… he still wanted it. An ache blossomed within him, the physical pull of the universe grabbing at his nerves. He stretched his hand out, pale fingers stretching outwards as they trembled with the desire to capture one of those lights. To catch his own shooting star. Even if it burned, even if it faded away not moments later. He- a light landed on the tip of his index finger, yellow glow coating his hand.

He only had the chance to be startled for a moment before he broke into laughter, his firefly jumping off his now shaking limbs. She floated away, tossing out a challenge. He took it, chasing her through the grass where cold water flung itself at his shins and feet, where the horizon was far off and untouchable, where the sky was equal to land. Meteors still flew above and the crickets still chirped, and it was a night that would never be the same- not to him. This was their night, a night where he could finally catch a star as she playfully beat her flimsy wings against his caged fingers. She was featherlight and so was he, their bodies nothing but air and reflections. It wasn’t until later, when they were heading home that Dan felt the rightness in him- noticed that his Dæmon wasn’t changing. He had settled.

~~~~~~~

Kosmanox lit up the heavy tome in front of him, for which he muttered a quick thanks before once again getting absorbed in the pages in front of him. He was in college now, and no matter how used to it he was by now, he was always grateful for her light. The rest of the college had gone dark, but he felt no desire to go back into his bed. He had finally managed to get into a reading position that wasn’t uncomfortable, and he wasn’t about to lose it now. He had squished himself onto a small alcove, knees tucked tight in front of him as he used them as a bookrest. Kosma landed carefully on his collarbone, tiny feet gripping his skin. The library was quiet and just barely lit with blue moonlight, illuminating thousands of dust motes as they drifted on invisible currents.

His eyes scanned each line carefully, relaxation and focus filling him as the atmosphere brushed distractions and his own wandering thoughts away with ease. His Dæmon hummed a quiet melody, a song that had gotten stuck in her head about a week ago and he smiled at the all too familiar tune. If you had asked him what he had been reading the next day, he wouldn’t have an answer. However, if you happened to ask him a question relating to it, he’d have a ready stream of information unspooling itself from his head. It was that kind of night. The world outside the library didn’t exist. Time didn’t either. Nor did he. In this cessation of themselves, they grew accustom to their own absence, breathing in where they had left. They became one with each other, allowing the others to fill in the gaps where their bodies ended. As it was, on nights like this, things just out of perception gathered in droves, compelling something new out of the air. Kosma released him, floating on top of his book, coming to a rest on the top of the spine.

“Do you remember the night we settled?”

Compared to her body, her voice was loud and clear, carrying effortlessly to his ears. He nodded, finding a fond smile almost impossible to draw, despite that being his reaction whenever he recalled that night. It seemed like a foreign, almost inappropriate response in this moment. He puzzled for a moment as to why, but forgot it as soon as she spoke again.

“I wanted to touch the stars. I could tell that you did too. What if I told you we could?” She paused a moment and before Dan figured out whether or not he should answer, she continued, a certainty in her voice, “We can.”

There was a beat when he thought she might elaborate, but no such answer came, even when he asked it of her. It didn’t matter much, because somewhere within him, he knows what she meant. Looking back at his book, he flipped the page.

~~~~~~~

He was in the field where he had settled again. A wave of nostalgia washed over him and he basked in it, allowing it to fill old familiarities. Tonight, he could touch the stars. He had no reason for thinking so. His hand glided towards the sky irregardless, fingers floating in the air. He felt the night build heavily in his hand, a strangely solid weight. He arched his arm down, letting nothingness fill its wake. And fireflies lit up the night sky. There was news on it the next day. Of course there was. After all, how odd and unusual was it that one field attracted and had been consequently ravaged by so many thousands of meteorites over night? How odd was it that they were all the same size? How the size, as one might notice, was that of an insect? How strange indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Kosmanox came from mixing Cosmos- space, and Nox- night. I got tired of how I wrote this so the other chapters won't be the same. Consistency doesn't exist and neither does pacing. I wish I knew how to do it though because I already have another project in mind which desperately needs it, lol. Anyway, take care of yourselves and I hope you all have a good day/night/evening!


	2. Death

His Dæmon was pitch black. Had been like that since she settled. Light refused to reflect off of her, making it look like she was nothing but a dog-shaped cutout. The only spots of ‘color’ she owned were her teeth and eyes, both a blinding white. Kevin honestly didn’t know why. She was the representation of his soul, right? And, sure, who didn’t love a good ol’ dark humor joke, but if he were to say ‘as dark as my soul’ he’s _pretty_ certain that that would fall flat. Just a little bit. Besides, he didn’t _want_ to think he was a bad person. Nobody really does. So it was kinda… difficult to look at her sometimes. He loved her! Of course he did, she was his Dæmon after all, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Melamorte took it well, taking to striding behind him instead of beside him. Of course, initially, that sent spikes of guilt straight into his stomach. When he told her of this, she responded with a small smile, black tongue forming careful words against snow white teeth. She told him that it was fine, she’d simply have his back instead of his company. She didn’t mind. She understood. The guilt never really went away, but it lessened with time. Mela’s light footsteps behind him became a reassurance and comfort instead of a wrongness. He made sure she knew that he never loved her any less, sometimes even bringing himself to brush out her coat, though he could never tell if he did it properly. She never complained, so he assumed that she at least appreciated the effort.

He didn’t know if it was the closeness or the removal of what had to be horrifically insulating loose fur removed from a coat that ate light and heat like no other. He suspects that it’s a bit of both. Life went on, as it tended to do. He had no idea why his soul was black. He didn’t know if he’d ever figure out why, or if he even wanted to. But on the nights when he couldn’t sleep, insufferable thoughts rattling around in his head like a hyperactive crow in a jewelry shop, she’d lay next to him, weaving words into unknown places that wound around each other like a thousand yard quilt. She’d create worlds out of mist, teeth flashing in and out of existence as her lips pulled thousands of words out of nothingness and turning them into something more. Some nights, he’d manage to fall back asleep, but others, he’d have to lay there, comfort found only in the universe that dripped compellingly off of her tongue.

~~~~~~~

It was a cold day. It was a terrible day. Today fucking sucked. Of course, he had known it was an inevitability. He just didn’t think anyone would actually be brash enough to imply that Kevin would’ve been better off without a Dæmon- without a _soul_. Customer service, right?! Mela walked beside him today, silent. He didn’t know if it was because he needed her or if she needed him. It didn’t matter much. He dug his hand into her ruff, fingers winding into thick fur. She glanced sideways at him before walking a bit faster- not enough to dislodge his hand, but enough to know that she was leading him somewhere. At this moment, he didn’t care where they were going. He didn’t want to think. Her nails clicked quietly against the pavement, a steady sound that he allowed to fill his brain instead of the thoughts that clawed at the insides of his skull.

So it may have taken him _maybe_ a _bit_ too long to realize they were heading to a graveyard. He kept silent, unwilling to speak up just yet. Unwilling to even risk breaking whatever was going on. He gently dug his fingers a bit further into her fur as they passed the gate. Mela ghosted past headstone after headstone, somehow looking more at home than any of them did. Even though she barely gave any of them the slightest glance, it looked as though she was walking among old friends. Time was strange here. It felt like they’d been walking for hours and just a few seconds at the same time when they finally hit the back of the cemetery. A lone inordinate grave that held no suggestions to the person belonging to it stood starkly apart from the rest. It was maintained, but not spectacularly so. Unthinkingly, he reached out, sliding a hand across its roughly worn surface.

Church Grim, it read, right above the name Brigham. There wasn’t a last name. She spoke then, voice taking on a tone he hadn’t heard from her before. She told him how it was rumored that the first thing to be buried in a cemetery would then have to guard it. In order to prevent this burden from falling to a human, they would bury a dog first. These were called church grims. He knelt down next to her, taking in the headstone in front of him. He didn’t need her to spell things out. Not really. There was a reason she was telling him this, after all. He wasn’t sure he believed in reincarnation, but asked anyway, just in case. She responded in the negative, taking a pause before going on to explain.

Something unprecedented had happened to this world. Something big. In order to cope, spirits and… other beings were taking on the forms of Dæmon’s to somewhat patch things up. They would stop in a generation or two, already rare as is. He asked her whether she was a spirit or something else. She didn’t answer. Kevin didn’t expect her to. He reached out a hand to rest atop her skull. He quietly told her that he had an idea of what made her come here. Customers didn’t know what they were talking about. She should know this by now. The customer was not, in fact, always right. He never wished for another Dæmon. Sure, he was uncertain of himself, but not of her. No, he’d never think that of her. And no longer of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melan- black, Mortem- death. Also, church grims are good dogs and I love them.


	3. Perception

Have you ever heard about vivisections? If you haven’t, it’s the practice of performing an operation on a living being for the purpose of experimentation. Now imagine, if you can, the sight of it. The fact that there wasn’t for any gain for the one undergoing the procedure- would it sway you? That- that feeling was exactly how those that were Dæmonless looked. One could almost say ‘husk’, but that would almost be to imply there was something clean about it. As if it weren’t an aching, raw wound that you saw whenever you looked at them. So it was only natural that they regarded him differently. After all, Seán never had a Dæmon. It sounded wrong to say- as if it were to imply that he didn’t have a soul, but... there wasn’t exactly proof that he had one.

He hated it. Everything about it. Hated the look in their eyes. Hated the spaces where a Dæmon would fit next to him. So, when he got old enough, he left. He didn’t delude himself- he knew that there really wasn’t a place that would accept someone Dæmonless. Not fully. But as he travelled, he learned new things. He soon gave himself the title of ‘witch’, despite being pretty certain that only women were witches. It was better than ‘separated’ though and certainly much better than Dæmonless. He made it work. It needed to work. Only witches were capable of being far away from their Dæmons. Pain lay in wait for everyone else who tried.

He, well, he wouldn’t know. But he did know other things. He knew how long it took to travel across an ocean. He knew how reality seemed to bend whenever you were high up enough in an air balloon. The earth never seemed so small. He knew different languages and customs and how food varied from place to place. He knew of hidden cultures and traditions, how to fit in even though you were the odd one out. He never knew what it was like to have a Dæmon, but whenever he traveled, he could almost forgive the universe for doing what it did to him.

~~~~~~~

He was curious. He supposed that he always was, but there was something different about today. He was thinking about Dæmons. Again. But he felt like it was important today somehow. All his life, he thought he didn’t have a Dæmon. But what if he was wrong? He knew a lot of things. Especially about Dæmons. He always made sure to ask, in every place that he went to what they thought about their souls. He found that sometimes, their Dæmon was the same sex as them. He found that some people had no idea what form their Dæmon had taken, if only because they didn’t live in a place that inhabited them. He found that there was a man whose Dæmon was inside of him. Or at least, there used to be.

He found out that it was possible he had one. Maybe it was inside of him like that man. Maybe it was small and easily hidden, tucked away from his sight. Maybe this entire time he had been separated. He didn’t know why, exactly, he thought he had one. It was possible he didn’t. But he couldn’t let the nagging thought in his head rest. Having finally had enough of his own brain's bullshit, he decided there was no better way to remove that stray thought than to test the theory. He touched down in a grassy field, taking care to properly ground his balloon. The fields around him roiled like waves as they bent from the wind. Normally, this would put him in a good mood. Normally he wasn’t plagued by thoughts of his Schrödinger's Dæmon. He walked a careful ten paces away from his balloon before he realized he hadn’t a clue on how to, you know, actually test it. Then again, how else were you supposed to gain the attention of someone?

“I know you exist!” He shouted into the wind, confidence rolling off his tongue even though he really, really didn’t, “I don’t feel empty but I don’t feel whole! Stop pretending that you’re not out there! It’s not going to make me go away- you’re stuck with me, asshole!”

He wondered what it meant when you called the physical manifestation of your own soul an asshole. He didn’t care.

“I swear we could probably get along! I wouldn’t know, since we never fuckin’ tried!” His eyes scanned the field fruitlessly, nothing but the almost hypnotic nothingness looking back at him.

“Come out of hiding! I know you can hear me! I- I know you can!”

Only the wind answered him, tugging softly at his clothing, “You- YOU EXIST! I KNOW YOU DO!”

You know, it was a surprisingly nice day out. A kind of awareness had crept back into him, reminding him of the fact that yes, yes he was in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere screaming into the void. No, no he didn’t know anything about the growing wetness on his face. Shut up. But no one was there to be bothered anyways, so he wasn’t going to, like, stop.

“I know you do! I- you have to! You have to exist! Do you hear me!?”

There was nothing there. There was never going to be anything there. He thought that he’d accepted that long ago, but at least he’d never done anything like this before.

“You… you! At least… at least you could tell me if I did something wrong. Did I? Did I do something to drive you off? I promise I didn’t mean it! Please… please just talk to me!”

Of course, the world around him held no answer. Dammit! God fucking dammit! This was stupid. He felt ridiculous. If his Dæmon did exist, if he really did drive them off, what could he possibly have done?! How could you- how could you just lose your Dæmon?! He brought his hand up, fully intending to wipe his face, forget about his ridiculousness, get back into his balloon, and forget that this ever happened. Instead, he found himself biting down on the meat of his thumb, stifling back sobs he hadn’t even known were bubbling up in his chest. It was nothing that could break skin, but he felt a want, a need, to bite down further- to feel something. Anything. His jaw twitched once before he let go, wiping saliva off on his pants. Sticking his hands back into his pockets, he walked back to the balloon.

“It was never your fault. The blame has always resided with me, my friend.”

Seán stiffened, resisting the urge to whip back around as quickly as possible. He turned slowly, finding a nothingness that sent a shame spiking through him. Of course- a vibrant green eye opened merely centimeters off the ground. And then another. A chameleon. Of course. He hadn’t- he hadn’t even known he had settled.

“You- you asshole!”

He would’ve punched her if it wouldn’t hurt him as well. She crawled closer to him, and he found himself kneeling in the grass, despite never having intended to. She spoke in such a familiar voice that he wanted to cry- despite the fact that he’d never heard it before this moment. It was thick and raspy from lack of use, but he found that he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“I’ve been patient. It hurt to be away from you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’ve waited years! Why did you hide yourself from me! Why did you never speak to me?! I never even knew we had settled!”

She blinked, disappearing from sight. When her eyes came back, they did so with the familiar oval shape of a cat, blinking warmly at him. He’d- he’d never settled at all. And she wasn’t a chameleon. He didn’t know what she was. But it brought with a sort of clarity. Of course. He could cover up the fact that he didn’t have a Dæmon in so, so many ways, but explaining that his was invisible? What would he have thought, when he was younger? Well, to be quite frank, he hadn’t the slightest clue- she never gave him the chance. He could’ve pretended he didn’t have a Dæmon. He could’ve pretended to be alone instead of actually being alone.

“You could’ve- should’ve revealed yourself to me much sooner!”

She didn’t say anything, green eyes blinking in and out of existence. He sighed, running his palm over his face. What was done was done. He reached out his hand. And for the very first time in his memory, he touched his Dæmon. Golden flecks of color faded into his vision, millions of them drifting freely downwards, passing easily through him and his Dæmon, to where they landed on the grass.

“What in the… what… what is that?”

She looked up, eyes crinkling in a way that suggested a smile, “Dust. We call that Dust.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, yes, I agree.”

They paused for a moment, silence surprisingly comfortable.

“What do I call you?”

“I never got a name. Call me whatever you like.”

His mind sprang into action, thinking about all the place he had been, all the languages he knew, all the names he could give her, before he remembered a memory that felt like a faded picture with all the edges worn in. He smiled. He always did have a name for her, didn’t he?

“Sam. Your name will be Sam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, I only watch Dan and Kevin so I really didn't know how to do this, lol. Next two chapters are going to be even worse since I've seen a bit of Seán at least


	4. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note- I added some tags for this chapter because I didn't remember to when I first posted this

Brian couldn’t remember how he settled. He thinks that most people would. But there was- there was a break-in. And he, well he- he tired to- he, uh... he died. He died. He remembered that night well. The spike of awareness and fear as he awoke to the sound of shattering glass. The cold that seeped into his feet as he slunk quietly towards the disturbance. The terror pounding in his chest. A footstep behind him that wasn’t his Dæmon’s. His body turning, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to back up. The cold unfamiliar eyes that met his. The way their muscles moved and stretched under their skin as they swung their weapon at him. The fast moving bat only visible as a blur closing in on his head. The beginnings of a scream that wasn’t his own. He’d flinched backwards, too little, too late. A split second of pain before nothing. Nothing at all.

He awoke to silence and darkness, the only noise a faint hum in his ears. He wasn’t in any pain. The house felt empty, weight creeping into every corner and shadow, pressing his world closer to him. He took a struggling breath in, reminding himself that he was alive. The heat from his back slowly leeched into the freezing floor, sending a chill throughout his body. Was that a nightmare? He felt like he couldn’t breathe. The air around him was suffocating. He heaved himself up, head swimming. He couldn’t get enough air. Through blurry eyes, he seeked out Chronata. When he didn’t see her at first, his chest seized in fear. Was it not a nightmare?! Did he lose her when he- he- did she fade away? Did she die?! Did he die?! A flash of pink drew his eyes to the floor, where he could just barely see her, barely recognize her as his. His eyes watered- he still couldn’t breathe, and he was very quickly realizing that that wasn’t just in his head.

There wasn’t anything around his neck, nothing to cut off oxygen. There wasn’t any pain in his chest, nor stuffiness in his head. He scooped his Dæmon up, but startled at her texture, she felt like- she felt like a salamander. SHIT! He dashed to his bathroom on dying lungs, practically tossing her in the sink as he quickly turned on the tap, nearly breaking it in his haste. He threw his hand over the drain in an attempt to clog it, too fried to think of the proper alternative. His vision was fading, but he could feel the water submerging his hand- and hopefully his Dæmon. Slowly, far more slowly than he liked, he began to take deeper and deeper breaths, lungs straining for more oxygen. The world refocused itself in a dizzing sort of way, static crawling through his head turning into thick snow before the flecks began melting, vision blurring more on his exhales. Mind returning to himself, he registered, in a faraway sort of mind, that the sink was overflowing.

Water lapped at his feet, pouring off from the porcelain as the bathroom floor flooded. Ah. Numbly, he flicked the tap off, gaining the willpower to plug the sink properly before he threw a towel haphazardly to the ground. He’d get to it... later. He cast a dubious look at it before he threw another down. There. Like nothing ever happened. The towels squished under his foot as he stepped on them to stand closer to the sink, releasing some of their water. His Dæmon looked back at him. She wasn’t quite a salamander, what with her three fuzzy-like fins that sprouted from either side of her head, but he couldn’t place her. She was albino. That was cool. He had settled. That was also cool. He just kinda wished it hadn’t been after his nightmare(?) and that she could also breathe air, because that was absolutely terrifying.

He sighed, a muted shakiness running through his body. He intended to just take a glance in the mirror, but was stopped dead in his tracks. His hands flew to either side of his sink as he leaned closer to his reflection, mind doing an abrupt restart. Well, it wasn’t a nightmare, or, at least, not all of it was. No, it couldn’t have been. His heart beat solidly against his chest, eyes fixed on his blood drenched shoulder. That wasn’t something that just… happened. It had completely ruined his shirt. Damn. Not the thing that you would think would be the thing to focus on, but it just seemed the most logical. Because, uh, there was no way that he- well. But his shirt was ruined, and that was an actual, tangible emotion he had felt before. He knew how to react to that.

He didn’t know how to react to the unfamiliar red eye that stared back at him. He didn’t know how to react to the raised scar that broke up his face, tracing exactly where he had been hit. He didn’t know how to react to the fact that maybe it wasn’t a nightmare- and where had the intruder gone anyways?!? The house was still silent, like nothing had ever happened at all. But the remaining evidence that something had was unmistakable. His hands tightened on the edges of the sink, muscles jumping under his skin. A headache pulsed behind his eyes, beating heavily in his skull. He had died, undoubtedly, he remembered that much with memories that he almost didn’t want returning to him. It just... didn’t stick. He remembered… he remembered the thudding of the bat. The crack as it hit his skull, and red. So much red. But- he buried his hand into his hair, pulling at it shakily, fingers winding through his hair- he shouldn’t remember that. He just… shouldn’t.

He released his hair, hand falling to his face. He traced the scar lightly, feeling the smooth ridges under his fingers. Completely healed. His hand dropped and so did his head, leaving him to stare at his Dæmon. They had matching red eyes. He had a memory that couldn’t be his. There was no sign of his assailant. He stared at her, puzzle pieces fitting clumsily against each other, not yet making any sense. Did she... do something? How? His breathing still bordered on ragged, the floor was soaked, his shirt was ruined, and he hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. But a strange calm had settled over him, even though a lingering discomfort twitched beneath his skin. He simply watched her as she floated along without a care, flat white tail just barely cresting above the surface before dropping back under. In that moment, in this place where reality warped around them, she didn’t look like she was swimming- she was flying. And in that same moment, he could swear he wasn’t looking at a Dæmon- he was looking at a god.

“What… what are you?”

And the room rang with clarity in her answer.

“Time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's an axolotl! Chronos- time. Also, I fucked up- right now all of my RPF fics as of this moment have asphyxiation in them. Fuckin' whoops. In my defense it is very easy to write and made sense in all of them! I'm big stupid, but not to worry! I have ~3 new ideas that I'm toying with right now and since asphyxiation is not, in fact, a common theme in my works, they won't have it, lmao. Also, apologies for forgetting to properly tag- I kinda forget when I don't have everything posted, but I'll try to be more careful with that


	5. Probability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea that Daithi's real name was David- I was just looking up some stuff for the fic and basically went "Who the fuck is David?!?". Anyway. His thing might be a little unclear, so I'll explain it in the end notes, but I hope you like it anyways!

David grew up surrounded by numbers. They hovered above everything, red coating his vision. He learned to ignore them after a disastrous attempt to ask about them that ended up with everyone involved confused. They had to mean something, right? He just wished he knew what that was. But given that no one seemed keen on telling him, he eventually gave in, learning to ignore them. They were constantly changing, an almost non-stop flickering that should’ve been annoying, but wasn’t. Maybe it was because he grew up with it, or maybe they didn’t affect his eyes the same way physical things did. And, yeah, they weren't physical, trust him, he checked. Multiple times. Not that it mattered much, since it never brought him any closer to understanding what they were or what they did. Or why he seemed to be the only person who noticed them.

And, really, what was up with that? Seriously? He was the one person who had to live with the inconvenience of seeing red plastered everywhere. He’s glad he didn’t hate the color, because _god_ that would be exhausting, but seeing it everywhere with no escape didn't exactly inspire ‘love’ either. Or any level of ‘vaguely like’. Whatever. Not that his color preference mattered much. The point was, was that the numbers were, as far as he could tell, pointless. Which was great. Y’know, if you were a big fan of the color red and _fucking_ _numbers_. He wasn’t, if you couldn’t tell, part of that demographic. What a surprise. He wondered if there was _any_ influence from his _surroundings_ that could’ve inspired such intense apathy. Whelp, guess he’d never know. It wasn’t like it was, y’know, _super_ obvious. What a shame. _What_ a _shame_.

Okay, fine, maybe that indeed sounded like he was pissed about the whole thing, but he really wasn’t joking about the intense apathy. Or, at least, more or less. Maybe it was like throwing a rug over a boulder and telling himself that the floor was flat. Either way, he honestly didn’t care enough to deal with it. He grew up, as it tended to happen. The numbers never told him what they were for, but then, he was never desperate enough to ask the disembodied numerals. He hadn’t settled yet, Centoplic unbothered by the questions they got about it. She didn’t seem bothered by much, if he was being honest. She always seemed to know if something was going to happen right before it did. He supposed that one day, he had to ask, so why not sooner rather than later?

“How do you do it?”

She flicked a rounded ear, before giving him a smile, “You see them too, the numbers?”

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised- this was his Dæmon after all.

She spoke again, not waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come, “They’re percentages.”

She shifted into a chimp, taking a ball in her hand before tossing it into the air, catching it in her hand, repeating the motion as she spoke, “Do you see how it becomes one hundred right before it hits my hand? That’s the percentage of it completing that action. When it changes up in the air, that’s the chance of an outside influence changing the outcome. But,” she said, catching it solidly in her hand, making no move to toss it again, “There are more numbers. The possibility of it being caught by a Dæmon specifically, the chance of me not catching it and it hitting the ground. The chance that something else will influence it. You’ll never know what is the most important percentage to look at any given time.”

She went on to tell him how each object held an infinite amount of percentages. How ninety-nine percent isn’t one hundred, and how important it was for him to know this. It wasn’t until later that she quietly explained that he could manipulate them as well.

~~~~~~~

The next morning, he did as anyone would do. He went to the hospital. He had powers. He would use them for good.

~~~~~~~

If there was one painful thing to learn, it was that your abilities were limited. No matter how he tried, he could never raise the numbers above her head more than a few fractions of a degree. He’s never seen fractions before. It wasn’t that the universe dealt in absolutes- it was that if he constantly saw every percentage down to the most precise of degrees, he’d go mad. It hadn’t done that for everyone else he helped. It felt like the universe was attempting to placate him. To tell him that he tried, tried to save this stranger. It just felt patronizing. The thirteen point seventy eight percent hung above her like a death sentence, unable to raise any further. To her frail body, it probably was.

The day after, he read the newspaper. It wasn’t something he did much. But when he saw the obituary, he knew why he even picked it up in the first place. Paper crumpled under trembling fingers, mutilating the text. Sharp edges pressed into his skin, but he couldn’t even give that the slightest attention as his fist closed further. He felt something hot bubbling his chest, something pressing the insides of his eyes. Turning, he felt energy snap through his body as he threw it against the wall as hard as he could, watching red spike across his vision. It felt like he was breathing in fire. He hated it. He hated the color red. HE HATED THE _FUCKING_ _COLOR_ _RED_.

A wall of fur pressed against his back. Centoplic lay one massive arm over his shoulder, bear paw that was nearly bigger than his head dangling in front of him. He felt as the fire became embers, and breathed out. He took a long breath in, feeling steel enter his core.

“Is there _anything_ I can change?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re going to do it. We’re going to fix something.”

She ambled in front of him and smiled, lips pulling over large canines, “Where would you like to start?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's a brown bear, Cent- century, centennial and Plic- to fold, interweave, tangle. I more or less just know him from the streams with the lads so I was thinking of "I have an hunch", and "I'm going to draw a plus four". I was thinking he might be a seer, but for me that kinda correlates to eyes, which I already had for Seán, so yeah, he has the ability to see and somewhat manipulate probability. And I didn't really give Kevin a 'power' because I didn't know what it would be, so it's open for interpretation.  
> Since Seán named his himself, this would've been her name if she'd been named at the beginning, Oculopia. Ocul- eye, Opia- vision. Now while they won't be meeting in this fic, because I'm kinda done with it, I suspect it would more or less go like this;
> 
> And also;  
> David, upon seeing a dude with a red eye: Oh, _fuck_ this guy


End file.
